


Why did you take up archery?

by CaptainnAustralia



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainnAustralia/pseuds/CaptainnAustralia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Ladynorthstar's art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why did you take up archery?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladynorthstar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ladynorthstar).
  * Inspired by [Why did you take up archery?](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/5699) by Ladynorthstar. 



_“Why did you take up archery?”_

 __

 __

How many times had he answered that question?

How many times had he brushed it off with ‘I just liked to shoot things’ or ‘because I knew that someday some idiot with a van dike would ask me stupid questions and I wanted to be able to hurt him from a distance.’

He couldn’t do that here.

Not with Bruce lying across him, his voice mussed with sleep, a thumb tracing over one Clint’s earliest scars. Bruce could tell it was from Clint’s childhood, because it was puckered and shiny, evidence of poor healing and lack of proper treatment – all his other injuries were made as tiny as possible, healed up as best they could so that they were nearly invisible against Clint’s skin. But his older wounds…  

It was raining now, like it had been then. The rain lashed against the roof with heavy stokes, thundering against the glass of the windows so hard they shook. Thunder rumbled above them, rolling loudly, intermitted with sharp stabs of blinding light that illuminated the room for a short second before settling back to darkness.

The power had died hours ago, but it was late – they didn’t need the light. Clint’s hand closed around Bruce’s tracing fingers, threading his own into their grip.

Bruce shifted in his hold, just a little, tilting his head upwards so that he could see Clint’s face. Clint didn’t like to talk about his past much. He always liked to say that ‘the past is in the past for a reason – we should keep it there.” He’d never gotten snappy when Bruce asked though, just gently avoided answering or joked his way through until eventually Bruce stopped asking.

Occasionally, however, when it was just the two of them, just like this, Clint wanted Bruce to know.

He wanted Bruce to know what it had been like the first time he’d picked up a bow. How he’d been soaked to the bone, dirty clothes clinging to bruised skin. How his nose had been bleeding so badly that he thought it would never stop.  How the grip on his arms had been so tight while he fought to escape another beating just hours earlier that it left bruise marks like hand prints.

He’d picked up the bow because he wanted to feel something. He wanted something that made him feel strong. In control; like he could protect his family… like he could protect himself. It didn’t matter that his right eye had been so badly swollen and bruised he could barely see out of it; that the rain was pelting so heavily against his wounds that just standing in it was like another beating on its own; or that the wind was so strong he’d have trouble so much as cocking an arrow.

When he’d picked up that bow he was safe.

He couldn’t use it. He didn’t even know what it was for. But he was safe. So he clung to that like the shirt to his chest.

And then he’d learned just how to mark, how to shoot, how to be perfect; how to never miss a shot. He channelled everything he had into learning – all his losses and his gains, every bruise and scar. Every mark on his body just spurred him to learn further.

 _“I had… lots of things to let out.”_  He packed as much meaning into that sentence as he could. He knew he’d have to explain. There was no avoiding that – but he was being honest. It was a first. Bruce leaned forward and kissed the scar lightly; then Clint’s chest; Clint’s neck before snuggling his head under Clint’s chin and humming contently like that single sentence was enough of an explanation for him.

With archery he’d found his place in the world. And it was so corny that Clint wouldn’t dare say it out loud, because that was just stupid, but really, archery had put him on the Avengers. It had put him with Bruce.

Clint just let out a long breath and wrapped his arm tighter around Bruce’s torso.

Archery gave him focus. He didn’t know what he might have done without it. He’d probably be a drunk. Really, it saved his life – in more ways than one. 


End file.
